


candy hearts

by Creatortan



Category: South Park
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Brief Underage Drinking, Confessions, Drag Queen Eric, Fake Proposals, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, In Denial Kyle, M/M, Movie Reference, Pet Names, SUPER brief - Freeform, Valentine's Day Fluff, movie marathon, slight angst/comfort, slight reference to kink, they've both been to therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22889692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creatortan/pseuds/Creatortan
Summary: There was only one person in town who seemed to hate Valentine’s Day as much as Kyle: Eric Cartman.Kyle shows up at Eric Cartman's house on Valentine's Day.
Relationships: Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman
Comments: 6
Kudos: 148





	candy hearts

**Author's Note:**

> A late gift for megoodles and dedicated to my discord server!! This fic just ran away from me...it was meant to be a drabble but here we are. 
> 
> As far as warnings go there is a BRIEF reference to "daddy kink" in the sense that Eric mentions the word as a petname and Kyle doesn't know how to feel abt it. It has less to do with the kink itself and is mostly just the term of affection. But there aren't any explicit references to sex or kink in the fic

Kyle thought Valentine’s Day was ridiculous. All of the arguments against it were clear and didn’t need repeating—the commercialism, the shallowness, the overwhelming and suddenly acceptable PDA—but every year _Kyle_ was made out to be some sort of Valentine’s Scrooge. Every year he heard from his parents, his peers, his super best friend, about how _Valentine’s Day is a beautiful holiday bubbie,_ and _you’re just bitter you’re still single,_ and _dude it’s not that big of a deal can you just tell me if this card or this card is more romantic?_

There was only one person in town who seemed to hate Valentine’s Day as much as Kyle: Eric Cartman. 

Whenever February rolled around, Cartman was the first person to talk shit about the stupid, mushy store displays, the overpriced candy, and the way everyone started scrambling like scared chickens find a good gift. And Kyle was always right there to laugh along with him. It was one of the few times in the year Kyle could guarantee he and Cartman would be on the same side. 

Which is why Kyle was standing on Eric Cartman’s front porch at 10AM on Friday, February 14th, as part of the unspoken small-town rule that no one was expected to go to school if V-Day landed on a weekday.

Kyle knocked on the door. He wasn’t sure why he was over so early, since Cartman might not be awake yet, but Kyle was sick of his parents already. The house was covered in his mom’s favorite flowers, and breakfast was pink and heart-shaped. It was disgusting. 

So here he was. Surprisingly, the door did open.

“She doesn’t offer the Valentine’s Bundle anymore— _go away.”_ Cartman looked up. “Kyle? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

Kyle blinked. 

“You look….” Kyle’s eyes jerked back up to Cartman’s face. “...Comfortable.”

Cartman was wearing pink silk pajama shorts and a white tank top with a cartoon cat on it, and fuzzy pink socks covered in hearts. His hair was pushed back with a thick white cat-ear headband, presumably to keep his bangs out of the way of the glittery purple facemask he had on. 

“Yeah, well, obviously I wasn’t… _expecting_ anyone today,” Cartman muttered, not meeting Kyle’s eyes. He looked almost sheepish, trying to hide behind the door. 

“Do you want to, uh, hang out?” All the bravado Kyle had on the walk over was quickly deflating, replaced with an almost...shy feeling. Cartman’s eyes darted to the side, as if he wanted to look behind him.

 _“Uh._ Only if you don’t ruin my plans.” Cartman seemed to recover from the weird atmosphere, his smug pride returning to his voice, only wavering a little. “Today is about _self-care,_ Kahl. I was in the _middle_ of a movie marathon.” Cartman moved to the side, letting Kyle in. “Perfectly curated. If you wanna come in, you don’t get to complain.” 

Kyle walked inside, shrugging off his jacket. Cartman’s living room was a mess of self-indulgent decadence. The couch was covered in blankets and pillows, there was a spread of snacks and expensive looking candy in piles on the floor, and the whole room smelled like lavender. _Mamma Mia_ was paused on the TV, a neat stack of DVD cases next to it.

Cartman settled into his blanket cocoon on the couch, grabbing some makeup wipes from out of nowhere to take his facemask off. He glanced at Kyle, then at the couch, expectantly. Kyle lowered himself onto the couch, and soon he was watching Meryl Streep dance around a tropical island. Kyle heard humming from next to him, and of course it was Cartman singing along. 

He had a glob of purple sticking to his jaw, just under his ear. Kyle, unthinkingly, leaned over and ran the side of his thumb over the spot—causing Cartman to squeal and flinch away from him. 

“Ky- _le!”_ Cartman whined, rubbing his palm over his neck. Kyle laughed, wiggling his fingers to show off the facemask still stuck to his thumb. He ended up wiping his hands on his jeans as Cartman weakly, jokingly slapped at his shoulder. 

They went back to the movie, and Kyle couldn’t help but crack a few smart-ass comments. 

“Oh god, they know how ridiculous those costumes look, right?” Kyle scrunched up his nose. “And I’m not even sure what she was expecting with this whole plan. Doesn’t this end with her having three dads? Jesus.” 

“Oh, come _on,_ Kyle,” Cartman rolled his eyes. “It’s a musical set to _Abba._ It’s obviously just a mom’s wet dream.” His voice dropped into a playful mumble. “And besides...I wouldn’t mind having Colin Firth as _my_ daddy either.” 

Kyle made an exaggerated gagging noise as Cartman laughed. When he leaned back into his seat, he saw Cartman perk up from the corner of his eye, like he’d just gotten an idea. And wasn’t _that_ always dangerous…

“Hey, _Kahl~”_ Cartman sang, leaning over on the couch, his knees tucked underneath him. “Your face looks like shit. Let me do a mask on you.”

“Dude, no.”

“C’ _mon,_ Kahl, don’t be a pussy! Let me fix your dry-ass skin.” Cartman reached over the side of the couch and, from somewhere, now had a lapful of skincare products he was looking over. “A good skin routine will also do _wonders_ for all that acne you’re hiding under your hat.”

 _“Hey!”_ Kyle glared. He put his hand down from where it was on its way to defensively rub over his forehead. 

“If you don’t let me fix your face I’m not making you hot chocolate.”

“You’re making hot chocolate?”

“Not for you if you don’t let me do this.”

Kyle pursed his lips. If there was anything Eric Cartman could do—it was make good sweets. 

“...Fine.” Kyle finally conceded. He figured Eric would keep badgering him about it until he gave in, anyways. Eric grinned at him, impish. He scooted over on the couch until his knees touched Kyle’s thigh. 

“Turn around.” Eric grabbed Kyle’s face and gently jerked it towards him, inspecting Kyle’s skin. 

“Eugh, weirdo.” Kyle shifted, pulling up one of his legs to sit sideways on the couch. Eric took his hat too, tossing it on the other side of the room for good measure. Eric snorted, his fingers burying into Kyle’s wild bangs. 

“I forgot how stupid your hair was.” Eric’s eyes glittered with mirth. Kyle met them with a half-hearted glare. “Here.” Eric sat back on his haunches, only for a second, to take off his headband, before moving back to strap it onto Kyle. “There we go.” 

_Mamma Mia_ was still playing in the background as Eric smeared a rough cream onto Kyle’s face. It smelled like peaches and was probably 40$. He wiped it off immediately after sanding away the top three layers of Kyle’s skin, and Kyle, foolishly, thought he was safe—before Eric was back with another bottle. 

“That was just the exfoliator! Don’t be such a baby.” 

And then he was smearing a pink cream onto Kyle’s face. This one smelled like roses. 

“I’ll go make the hot chocolate, and by the time I’m done you can wash the mask off.” Eric hopped off the couch and...sashayed away to the kitchen. Kyle stared for a second, eyes fixated on the way the light caught on the silk of Eric’s shorts, the fabric tight around his hips and thighs. Kyle looked at the TV, then back in the direction of the kitchen. 

Kyle found himself sitting at the dining room table, watching. Eric fluttered around the kitchen, humming under his breath. When he grabbed something from the top shelf, he stretched up onto his toes, his tank-top riding up, exposing his soft sides and the curve of his belly. (If Kyle realized he was staring, he didn’t acknowledge it.)

 _“Rich or poor, I don’t care who,”_ Eric sang softly, _“If he hasn’t got a million, then a—half will do!”_

Eric’s socked foot tapped on the linoleum. His voice didn’t sound half bad these days. 

_“Every baby needs a da-da-daddy,”_ Eric continued, pouring the milk into the saucepan. _“Could my da-daddy be you?”_

“What the hell are you singing?” Something about the way Eric’s voice had gone silky and sweet made Kyle’s stomach flip. 

“I watched some Marilyn Monroe before you got here.” Eric casually waved the wooden spoon. _“Yes, my heart belongs to daddy! So I simply…couldn’t be bad!”_

Eric looked back at Kyle and winked. 

“The fifties had a _thing_ for daddies, I guess.” Eric turned back around to the saucepan. And Kyle was left shellshocked. 

First _Mamma Mia_ and now this. Kyle was starting to draw some uncomfortable conclusions about himself and Eric’s apparent daddy issues. Especially with Eric dancing around in tiny shorts.

“Hey, Kyle, go get my phone.” Eric didn’t really ask, but Kyle wasn’t going to hold him up for politeness when he would much rather take the excuse to leave the room. He needed to stop his strange train of thought before it spiraled into something uncontrollable. Kyle didn’t need a repeat of last Christmas. 

Kyle came back with Eric’s phone, and before he could do anything with it, Eric said:

“Open up my Spotify and play whatever I had on.” 

Kyle shrugged and sat down. 

“What’s your password?”

Eric turned around, one perfectly waxed eyebrow raised. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t know how to unlock my phone, Kahl.”

Kyle winced, but unlocked Eric’s phone anyways. He bravely ignored the notifications left on Eric’s social media apps and instead opened up his Spotify. Mariah Carey’s _Touch My Body._

Kyle could’ve easily found another playlist. Or another song. 

He didn’t. 

“I love this song!” Eric cheered. Soon he was singing, and it was last Christmas all over again. 

_“Put me on the floor, wrestle me around, play with me some more,”_ Eric sang. Rather than the quiet humming from before, with the support of an actual song playing—he was really getting into the song. _Really really_ getting into it. Like the diva he was. Kyle couldn’t help but grin at the thought. _“Touch my body, know you like my curves, come on and give me what I deserve~”_

Mariah didn’t last forever, though, and soon Eric was singing _Dear Future Husband,_ which...was a surprisingly fitting song, all things considered. Kyle could easily picture Eric as a bratty housewife. (Maybe too easily?)

Then Eric was trying to goad Kyle into a _Summer Nights_ duet, even though Kyle couldn’t sing for shit. He went as far as to sort of say the ' _tell me more'_ s, which seemed to satisfy Eric enough. Kyle even clapped for the way Eric held Sandy’s last long note.

“Weren’t you in _Grease_ when the drama club put it on?” Kyle asked. Of course he knew. Eric was the president of the drama club—he was in everything they put on. But Kyle couldn’t see the show. He had a basketball game opening night. He caught the latter half of the last show, though. Not that he really cared—he just wanted to see what the drama club got away with. Eric was very persuasive.

“Oh, yeah. I was Rizzo.” Eric scoffed. “Can you believe they almost put _Bebe_ as Rizzo instead of me? I had to fight for that role. _Sandra Dee_ was my favorite song to choreograph. Though I did have to pull some strings to get it just like the movie. Costume and all.” 

Kyle remembered. There was immediate backlash for the way Eric had flounced around on stage in boyshorts and a button-up shirt—but the controversy quieted down immediately after. As most tended to do in South Park. Especially where a Cartman was involved.

“I was tucked the whole play just for that one line— _you got your crust, I’m no object of lust.”_ Eric hummed, thoughtfully. “It was worth it for how horrified the parents in the crowd were, though.” 

“What did you do?” Kyle wasn’t there for that part, and he didn’t have the chance to ask anyone when it happened—people would’ve thought Kyle was interested or something. He also didn’t mention that he knew what tucking was. It would’ve only proved he spent _way_ too much time hanging out with Eric Cartman.

“Haven’t you seen the movie?” Eric shrugged. “It’s in the marathon pile; I’ll show you.” 

Eric poured the hot chocolate into two novelty mugs: Eric’s said “Move I’m Gay,” while Kyle’s had a drawing of a camera and said “I shoot people.” 

Eric herded Kyle to the sink, though, to make Kyle wash off the face mask, then they went back to the couch. Instead of finishing _Mamma Mia,_ Eric decided to put on _Grease._

Kyle tried to look pointedly at his mug, and not at the way Eric was kneeling to change the DVD.

“I would’ve thought you’d want the lead role,” Kyle said, blowing on his hot chocolate. “You know, for _Grease.”_

“I mean, I _could_ play Sandy, but no one would believe it.” Eric sat next to Kyle, pulling his blanket back around his shoulders. He looked so...small, all curled up with his hot chocolate and fuzzy socks. “For some reason, people always think Bebe is a diva, which makes no sense, _at all._ They think she’d blow up if she didn’t get a big part, but everyone’s heart was set on Nichole for Sandy already. Finally Bebe was able to talk them into giving her Frenchy instead. I even rewrote _Beauty School Dropout_ so she could sing in it!” 

Kyle half-listened, more interested in the way Eric was so animated and dramatic in his complaints. 

“And _speaking_ of weird casting. _Craig.”_ Eric looked at Kyle as if Kyle should’ve known what that meant. “Craig wasn’t even there to audition. He came to read lines with Tweek because _Tweek_ was going for Sonny. Which, he got. And the director gave _Danny_ to _Craig._ His first ever role! He didn’t even want it! He did a good job but he only got the part ‘cause he’s handsome. Which is _so_ shitty, honestly; Tweek should’ve gotten it, but Tweek never goes for lead roles. Pussy.” 

Eric took an incensed slurp of his hot chocolate.

“The only reason Craig could _pretend_ like he liked a girl was because we had to tell him to imagine he was dancing with Tweek. I mean, it was cute, but Craig obviously isn’t an actor if he couldn’t do that much. At least Tweek _actually likes girls.”_

“Wait, he does? I thought he was gay.” Kyle didn’t know Tweek very well, but 'Creek' had been Couple of the Year pretty much every year. “He’s only ever been with Craig.”

“Wow, Kahl, how biphobic of you,” Eric tsked, “Just because Tweek’s only been with a guy doesn’t mean he can’t also like girls.” Eric gave Kyle a look that was far too pointed. “Get with the program.” 

Kyle rolled his eyes, unwilling to unwrap the uncomfortable twist in his gut. Instead he looked back at the TV, and made a joke about the plot of the movie. At one point, Kyle saw movement from the corner of his eye, and saw Eric taking selfies of the two of them. When Kyle looked over, hot chocolate in hand, Eric was choosing another filter. 

“Say cheese, Kahl!”

“Don’t post those!” Kyle turned away, hiding his face behind his hand. Since he wasn’t looking, he couldn’t have seen how Eric had started admiring the pictures he’d taken—tracing the _handsome_ lines of Kyle’s stupid _handsome_ face and internally screaming at how _date-like_ it all felt. 

They snacked on candy and s’mores as they plowed through watching the rest of _Grease,_ then _A Cinderella Story, The Princess Bride,_ and _How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days._

Just before the credits started rolling on their last movie, Eric’s phone rang. He lazily snatched it up from the coffee table, before glancing at the screen and swearing. 

“Shit.” Eric stopped the alarm. Then, he looked over to Kyle with a devious grin. “So...you wanna get some free food?” 

“What?” Kyle said around his mouthful of Smarties. 

“I made a reservation at that fancy restaurant about half an hour from here,” Eric explained, “I was going to go in drag and pretend I was stood up. Make it a whole sob story. Maybe he broke up with me over text, on _Valentine’s Day—_ how sad. But now that _you’re_ here...maybe we could shake it up a little.”

“Oh no, you’re not making me look like an asshole by dumping you in public, Cartman, not again.” 

“Ugh, no, idiot. You can pretend to _propose.”_

“You want me to _propose_ to you in front of an entire _restaurant?”_ Kyle felt his face heating up. His chest felt tight just from thinking about doing something like that. In _public._ He had flashbacks to the time Clyde tried to ask Annie out to Homecoming with a grand gesture and was so thoroughly, soundly rejected it became a meme for a month. _A month._

“Duh! The only people who go to restaurants like that are married old people! If we make a big deal out of a proposal we’ll get free food _guaranteed,”_ Eric said, “C’mon, Kahl! Don’t be a pussy! Do you _want_ to go back home where your parents are probably making out in the living room?” 

“Ew, dude, sick!” Kyle grimaced. “But, fine, whatever. I’ll go to the fucking restaurant with you. When’s the reservation for?”

“Seven.” 

“It’s only five!”

Eric looked at Kyle with the most perplexed face Kyle had ever seen on him.

“How quickly do you _think_ I can get ready?”

A beat of silence.

“Okay. Fair.” 

“Good, now you go get that nice suit you wore to your cousin’s Bat Mitzvah while I go get ready.” Eric started pushing Kyle towards the door. 

“Wait, how do you know what I wore for that?” Kyle was pushed onto Eric’s porch. 

“I’m friends with your mom on Facebook! Now go! I’ll leave the door unlocked!” And then said door was slammed in Kyle’s face. Bewildered, Kyle retreated back to his house, making sure to hurry up the stairs before anyone could realize he was there. 

The suit was hanging in the back of his closet, wrapped in plastic. Kyle wasn’t sure if he was supposed to put the suit on now or not—but then he saw himself in the mirror, and realized his hair was a _mess._ And he still had on that headband. 

There was a knock at the door, and Kyle tore off the headband before his mother could open the door. (She never waited for a response.) When she walked in, she saw the suit in Kyle’s hand and her face broke out into a grin.

“Oh, _bubbie!”_ Sheila cried, rushing in the room to give Kyle a hug. “You didn’t tell us you had a _date_ tonight!”

With horror, Kyle could only watch as his whirlwind of a mother trotted out of the room and yelled down the stairs for his father. 

“Gerald! Kyle has a date tonight! Isn’t that exciting!” Sheila started fussing with Kyle’s hair, and Kyle realized he couldn’t possibly explain to them his actual plan.

“Where are you going? You taking her somewhere nice?” Gerald winked. He and Sheila looked at Kyle expectantly, excitedly. 

“Uh, we have reservations for that nice restaurant uptown.” Kyle held the suit close to his body, mentally calculating how quickly he could run from the house. 

“Oh! Kyle! You must really like her if you’re going there!” Sheila turned to her husband. “Gerald, go get Kyle some extra money, just in case. We can’t have him asking his date to pay for him if she ends up ordering something expensive!” 

Gerald took some bills from his wallet and handed them to Kyle with far more sleazy enthusiasm than he would if he knew what they would actually be going towards. 

“Oh! I should get pictures! Kyle, you put on your suit and I’ll go get the camera!” Sheila fluttered out of the room, waving her hands and cooing about _bubbie’s first Valentine’s date._ When Kyle thought he might have a chance to escape, his dad turned to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Kyle’s entire body went cold with fear. 

“Look, Kyle, should we be expecting you home tonight?” Gerald said suggestively. He reached into his wallet and pulled out a shiny square packet Kyle refused to look at. “Don’t worry, I’ll calm your mother down. Go get ‘em, son!” And then Kyle was being pushed out the door of his room, suit in hand. 

He ran out of the house as fast as he could, wishing he could scrub away whatever had just fucking happened from his brain.

Kyle made it back into the safety of Eric’s house. Eric, of course, was nowhere to be found.

Kyle walked upstairs. The bathroom door was shut but the light was on underneath it, and there was loud pop music from inside. Kyle bypassed the bathroom and went straight for Eric’s bedroom to change. He shut the door behind him, and when he looked up, there were green eyes staring back at him.

Eric’s cat—Freckle—was curled up on the bed. Kyle sort of...tried not to stare too long, but he did look over his shoulder, just to make sure Freckle wasn’t planning on trying anything. Kyle didn’t have anything against cats...it was just a lot harder to read them.

Kyle adjusted his collar in the mirror, pretending he didn’t notice the slinky red dress on the dresser next to it. He looked at his hair again. Trying not to think twice, Kyle left the bedroom and knocked on the bathroom door. 

“Hey, help me with my hair.” 

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot about that!” Eric called through the door. “Come in—I’m decent.”

“You’re never decent.” Kyle opened the door anyways. Eric grinned at him through an insane mess of makeup that would somehow eventually turn into a pretty woman’s face. Eric tossed a towel at Kyle and directed him to the shower. 

“Go get your hair wet, comb and towel.” There was a plastic bucket with hair brushes and combs. When Kyle reached for one, Eric tsked at him.

“The blue one. God, Kyle, what do you do to your hair? Use a _brush?_ Your poor curls need the gentle touch of a wide-toothed comb.”

Kyle did as he was told, careful not to get water on his shirt. Eric told him to sit on the toilet and then had his hands in Kyle’s hair again. Kyle pretended he didn’t like the feeling of Eric’s hands combing product into his hair. He didn’t think he did a great job, though, considering he didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until Eric was done. 

“Now just let it dry and _don’t_ touch it.” Eric turned back to the mirror and picked up a makeup brush. Kyle, fascinated, just watched. 

“That looks so uncomfortable,” Kyle commented. 

“Beauty is pain, duh.” Eric’s mouth was hanging open, his voice airy and distracted, as he carefully applied eyeliner. 

“Don’t you want to touch your face?”

“Constantly,” Eric sighed. With a little glare to Kyle he gently tapped his fingers to his cheeks. “But I _can’t_ so I ignore the feeling.” 

They continued to chat a bit, and it was only when Eric leaned forward to put on his lipstick that Kyle noticed Eric was wearing a silky robe, now. The front of the robe came a little loose, and Kyle saw what looked like shapewear or something. Looking down further, it seemed Eric already had on some black pantyhose too—the kind with the dark seam up the back. 

“Um. Do you need something?” Eric sounded almost coy as he looked down at Kyle, and Kyle had an answering flush high on his cheeks as he realized he’d been leaning forward to get a better look at Eric’s tights. 

“Shut up. Go back to your showtunes.” 

Eric stuck his tongue out at Kyle and did, in fact, go back to his showtunes, happily humming to the _Hairspray_ Broadway version of _You Can’t Stop the Beat._

About half an hour later, and Eric was gluing the edges of his wig down. Kyle stood next to him, ready to finally leave the stuffy little bathroom. Kyle gently twisted a lock of the wig between his fingers. 

“What is it with you and blonde?” 

“Gentlemen prefer blondes, Kyle.” 

“....Is that a reference to something.”

“Oh my god, I can’t _believe_ you missed the Marilyn marathon.” Eric smoothed down his hair. “Help me get my dress on.” Without even looking at Kyle, Eric was out of the bathroom, his hand at the knot of his robe. Kyle swallowed thickly.

“Do I have to?”

“That’s why you’re here! I wouldn’t have put on my wig if I didn’t have you to zip me up!” 

Kyle _respectfully_ looked away when Eric’s robe fell from his shoulders. He heard fabric shuffling and some quiet cursing.

“Zip me up, Scotty!”

“That reference was awful.” Kyle stood behind Eric to reach the zipper. Kyle clicked his teeth. “Are you sure this fits?” 

“It’s supposed to be tight! Just don’t break it!” Eric braced his hand on the side of the mirror as Kyle started tugging the zipper harder. After some struggle, and uncomfortable wriggling, the dress was zipped. Eric rolled his shoulders back, puffing out his chest to look in the mirror. 

“Can you breathe in that?” 

“Of course not.” Eric preened, fixing his hair and admiring the way the knee-length red dress hugged his half-faked curves. “How else do you think I get my waist looking this cute?” His voice had started to shift, just a little, into the Bad Irene persona—he wasn’t full Irene, but he did sound a little more perky, and musical, like he was ready to burst into song at any sentence. 

Eric pouted at his reflection. Kyle watched in amusement as Eric seemed to be thinking very, very hard about something. 

“Oh! We’re gonna need a ring!” Eric scooted past Kyle to root through the top drawer of his dresser. From where Kyle was standing—all he saw in there was a bright assortment of glittery, gaudy gems. Eric came back with an armful of jewelry, which he dropped on top of the dresser next to the mirror. He held up a huge, extravagant looking ring which he slipped onto his finger with a dreamy sigh.

“Is...is that real?” Kyle was only seconds away from grabbing Eric’s hand to get a better look. 

“I _wish.”_ Eric huffed. He started holding up necklaces, and Kyle realized, once again, why Eric set an alarm so early to get ready. Kyle sat down on the bed, careful not to disturb Freckle too much. 

He shouldn’t have worried, since Freckle was apparently more than happy to just...keep staring at Kyle. 

“Should I go statement or simple?” Eric had a necklace in each hand. Kyle had no actual opinion. “Let’s go simple. Then the ring will stand out more.” Half of the necklace pile went back into the drawer. After several rounds of trial and error, Eric finally picked out a necklace, bracelet, and earrings. He tucked the ring into a little box and tossed it to Kyle, who stowed the box away in his pocket. It felt strangely...present. Even though it wasn’t real, Kyle still had that...sense of unease, a crawling under his skin. He made sure it was pushed deep enough in his pocket it wouldn't fall out. 

Eric stepped into an obscenely tall pair of white heels, a useless tiny clutch purse, and a massive faux white coat. He did a little spin to face Kyle.

“How do I look?” Eric asked, a cheeky grin on his face, his hip cocked and a finger on his chin. 

“Like a bitch,” Kyle said before he could think better of it. 

“Like _‘let me speak to the manager’_ bitch or _‘Insta hoe’_ bitch?” 

“The...latter?” 

“Do I look like a _pretty_ bitch?” Eric batted his fake eyelashes. Kyle rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, dear, you look stunning,” Kyle said, robotically, “Can we go now?”

Eric stuck his tongue out at Kyle and turned on his heel to leave, his hair and hips swinging behind him. Kyle quickly followed suit, snatching up his jacket, almost concerned for how Eric was going to get down the stairs in those heels. They were so tall Kyle felt compelled to offer his arm. He didn’t, but that didn’t stop Eric from taking it anyways. 

“Okay, so for this to work, you’re gonna have to pretend like you’re in love with me.” Eric slid into the passenger side of his mother’s Sedan. He didn’t look at Kyle. “Just pretend I’m an algebra textbook or something.” 

“You do know I’ve been on dates before, right?” Just as Kyle said that, Eric gasped, offended. 

“This isn’t just any date!” Eric placed the back of his hand over his forehead, “To the people in that restaurant, this is the beginning of the rest of our lives together, _darling.”_ Eric practically purred, leaning over the center console, his fake blonde hair tickling the side of Kyle’s neck. 

“Oh god.” Kyle felt his face heat up. “Don’t call me that, you little weirdo.” 

“What, do you not like that one? What about _honey,_ or _pumpkin,_ or _sugar bear?”_ Eric’s voice got more and more saccharine and schmoopy with every word, and Kyle cringed so hard he felt like his skin was going to retreat into his body. He tried to stifle his laughter, but that just spurred Eric on.

“Or _cuddle bunny, Prince Charming, shnookums—”_ Eric, at this point, had both manicured hands around Kyle’s arm, as if to prevent Kyle from escaping. “I’ve got a million of these, daddy, and I’m not afraid to keep going.” Eric’s teasing voice was suddenly cut off—as he slapped a shocked hand to his own mouth.

Kyle choked. The silence was sudden, Eric’s eyes wide with mortification. It seemed he didn’t mean to slip that last pet-name in with the bunch. Eric was back at his own half of the car nervous laughter uncomfortably bubbling from his mouth. 

It appeared Eric was just as affected by the dumb little name as Kyle seemed to be, and Kyle wasn’t sure if that made the situation better or worse. Kyle didn’t even know if he was affected by the name or just by the fact that it was _Eric_ saying it, or something. Whatever. Kyle turned on the bluetooth radio, quietly, as Eric composed himself in the passenger seat. 

“So, uh, the plan…” 

Half an hour and half the _Heathers_ soundtrack later, the two of them were at the restaurant. As instructed, Kyle opened the door for _“Irene”_ and let “her” hold his arm as they walked in. 

“We have a reservation,” Eric’s smile was all white, white teeth.

“Name?” The waiter looked exhausted around the eyes, service industry around the mouth.

“Broflovski,” Eric replied, casually, completely ignoring the way Kyle gaped. 

The waiter led them to their table—located just a little to the left of the center of the restaurant, but still in perfect view of everyone if they drew attention to it.

“Close your mouth, dear,” Eric chirped, squeezing Kyle’s arm. Kyle did, trying to smooth out his expression. As instructed, Kyle took Eric’s coat and pulled out his chair for him. The waiter handed them menus and they ordered drinks—diet coke for Kyle, sweet tea for Eric. 

The second the waiter was gone, though, Kyle’s fake-polite smile dropped from his face and he turned to his dinner-partner.

“Dude!” Kyle half-whispered, “Why did you put this under _my_ name? I’m a little offended you think I’d be the asshole to ditch you.” Kyle remembered back to Eric’s original scheme. 

“Really? Tell that to Annie, Bebe, Mandy, Nichole, and Jenny.” Eric counted on his fingers. “You ditching your girlfriends seemed to be a pattern.” 

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t ditch _you,”_ Kyle muttered, pride still wounded. “Who knows what you’d get up to if I wasn’t there to keep an eye on you.”

Kyle stared down at the menu, unaware of the shocked, shy smile on Eric’s face. 

Dinner went very well. Eric sent back his plate about twelve-thousand times but still picked off of Kyle’s. They made fun of the other patrons. Eric used the word “snatched” and had to explain what it meant and wasn’t _that_ a fun tangent. Dinner went so well, actually, Kyle almost forgot why they were there. That is, until he felt a heel gently knock against his ankle under the table. 

Kyle almost choked on his fork. He looked up at Eric mid-bite and Eric was just giving him the most ridiculous face, going as far as to obnoxiously gesture to his hands by pretending he was fixing an earring—and that’s when Kyle remembered the ring.

As the waiter was on the way back to take their plates, Kyle made his move. 

His hands were shaking as he got down on one knee in front of Eric. Who, by the way, looked ecstatic, practically vibrating in his seat. The wait staff and other patrons stopped to watch, a hush falling over the crowd. 

Kyle had to think back to what he was told to say, what Eric made him practice over and over in the car—almost too distracted by the giddy look in Eric’s eyes. Kyle licked his dry lips. 

“Er— _Irene,”_ Kyle’s voice hitched, “We’ve been dancing around this for far too long—I've never met a more obnoxious, complicated, overbearing, smart, sexy woman in my life, but I know if I don’t ask you to be mine, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” Kyle takes out the ring. “I want to be there for you, sharing everything you do. Will you marry me?” 

Even though the proposal was surely cannibalized from movies Kyle had never seen, it seemed to do the trick, and the entire restaurant was seated on bated breath waiting for Eric’s response. Eric, the actor he was, gasped daintily, tears welling up in his eyes as he leapt out of his chair right into Kyle’s arms, both of them kneeling on the floor still. 

“You did great,” Eric whispered into Kyle’s ear. Their faces were close enough, hidden under the curtain of Eric’s wig, for it to look like they might have kissed. The restaurant exploded into applause. 

Eric got off the floor to sit in his chair, offering his left hand to Kyle. Kyle slipped the ring onto Eric’s finger and sheepishly sat back down in his own seat. Thankfully, the attention was on Eric and the ring, so Kyle didn’t have to say anything else. 

They were congratulated about two dozen times before the manager came by to waive their bill. And they got a free slice of cake to share. The wait staff stood near their table eagerly, and Eric was the one who picked up on what they probably wanted— 

“Oh-em-gee! Let’s feed each other!” Eric cooed, “It’ll be practice for our _wedding!”_

The restaurant simultaneously _aww_ ’ed for them.

“Don’t worry, I won’t mess up your makeup,” Kyle said, “Since it took you forever to do.” He meant it as teasing, but it somehow came out a lot more fond and playful than he intended. Though the temptation to smash the cake on Eric’s face was very, very strong—from the look in his eye, Kyle knew Eric also had the same idea. 

They didn’t though, since the restaurant patrons were watching them like overbearing parents at prom, and they were sure their usual brand of humor wouldn’t be very well received. If they were doing something like this for real, Kyle was certain there would be cake on the ceiling, and Eric would’ve pulled out a T-shirt cannon and stuffed it with frosting. 

But this wasn’t real, so Kyle simply had to watch Eric carefully wrap his lips around Kyle’s fork and leave behind a smear of lipstick. And Kyle, in turn, went a little cross-eyed as Eric’s fork came towards him.

The cake was fine, Kyle guessed. He didn’t have a lot of opinions, but Eric certainly did. Whether they were real or not was up for debate, but he’d buttered up the wait staff enough to get them more free cake, somehow. Despite anything else, Kyle had to admire Eric’s charisma. 

“Oh, honey, we could come here for _catering_ for the _wedding!”_ Eric turned the manager. “Do you do catering? This cake is _divine_ and I would _love_ to send my compliments to the chef! Oh, but darling, your mother doesn’t _like_ coconut cake— _garçon_ do you have another flavor we could try?”

And then there was a whole array of desserts spread out in front of them. Kyle only had maybe two more bites—since all that _sugar_ was gonna kill him otherwise. The wait staff was even excited enough to break out _champagne_ at Eric’s request, without even carding them. Kyle turned down a glass of his own, but did steal a sip of Eric’s to try. 

Eric had fun, though, schmoozing the staff and daintily scarfing down cake. At one point Kyle thought he looked pretty stupid just sitting there, so he reached across the table and took Eric’s free hand in his own. Eric didn’t visibly react, though he did glance back at Kyle. 

Eventually Eric had downed three skinny glasses of champagne, and only got that far because he chugged his last glass before Kyle could stop him. Eric burped so loudly it echoed throughout the restaurant, and the two of them ended up curled over with laughter. 

On the way out of the restaurant, Eric had to cling to Kyle for support, since he was more than a little tipsy. They left without paying and more than one patron winked at them on their way out.

Eric was giggly in the car, his heels kicked off and his knees to his chest. Kyle watched him, amused.

“That was _sooo_ much fun,” Eric slurred, tossing his wig and wig-cap into the backseat. He ran a hand through his messy bangs. 

“I like you better as a brunette,” Kyle said before he could stop himself. Eric just burst into laughter, again. 

_“Oooh~_ Kahl, you _like_ me.” Eric made exaggerated kissy noises. “You like me and you _proposed,_ how _romantic_ you are.” Eric tossed the ring into the cup holder. 

“I’d say _‘take me to dinner’_ but I think we just got that one checked off the list,” Kyle quipped, only because he knew Eric would find it funny. 

“Oh! Kahl, Kahl, can we stop?” Eric asked, “I don’t wanna cook tomorrow. Let’s pick something up.” 

“Sure.” 

But as Kyle drove them closer to the Chick-Fil-A, a plan began to form in his mind. 

“Kahl, why aren’t we going through the drive through….” Eric forlornly began to tug on some beaten-up ballet flats he had stashed in the door of the car. 

“I have to piss.” Kyle took his suit jacket off and left it on the center console, and as Eric turned to get out of the car, Kyle snatched up the ring. 

They wandered into the Chick-Fil-A and absolutely looked out of place. Eric stood in line, peering at the menu as if he didn’t already have his order planned out, and Kyle took the opportunity to actually take a piss. 

By the time he came back out, Eric was two people away from being to the cashier, and there was no one behind him. Perfect. 

“So, we had quite the night, huh?” Kyle said, just loud enough to be heard. Kyle’s tone was pretty intentionally attention-grabbing, the kind of “I know something you don’t know” that was guaranteed to get all eyes on you in a damned _Chick-Fil-A._

“Uh-huh. I had fun.” Eric was barely paying attention. 

“Yeah, if only I had the chance to do what I’d planned for tonight.” Kyle gripped the ring from in his pocket. “But I can do it right now.” 

“What are you—” Eric finally caught on to Kyle’s weird tone, and when he turned, he saw Kyle on one knee. Eric’s eyes widened. He dropped back into his swooning bridal persona at the drop of a hat, hands coming up to gracefully cover his mouth. 

“I can’t imagine a future without you.” Kyle was thinking on the spot, chest growing warm at the accidental sincerity in his tone. “You’re fucking infuriating and driven and talented. For some reason I wanna take care of you. Will you let me?” 

Eric blinked, taken aback. Someone in the Chick-Fil-A yelled at Eric to “say yes!” and that’s what shocked them both back to reality. 

“Yes! Oh my _god,_ Kyle, _yes!”_ And this time, Kyle was on his feet, his arms around Eric first. 

“I hope you like free chicken,” Kyle whispered. He slipped the ring onto Eric’s finger. 

The Chick-Fil-A burst into scattered, confused applause, and one of the overly-peppy workers started excitedly talking to the other cashiers. The excited worker started gesturing for people to go to the kitchen.

This time they were briefly congratulated, handed a big bag, and then pushed out the door. Eric gently strapped the bag into a seatbelt in the backseat before they finally were on the way back home. 

“So, what was that all about?” Eric asked. 

“I mean, it worked once, why not do it again?” Kyle shrugged, grinning. “Why not trick a homophobic corporation into giving some free food to a gay guy in drag?” 

“You clever ginger bastard! I didn’t think you had it in you,” Eric playfully punched Kyle’s arm. “That’s a lie—you’re lawful neutral on a good day.” Eric clicked his tongue at Kyle. “But what about that proposal speech! That was pretty sappy.” 

“Yeah, I mean, it got the job done.” 

“Where did it come from?” 

“I...uh, you know.” With ice in his veins, Kyle all of a sudden realized he meant every word of that stupid speech. So caught up in the moment, it just sounded _right_ as a proposal and Kyle didn’t realize it was _true._

 _Fuck._ He could’ve just said what he said at the restaurant. But he had to go open his stupid fucking mouth—

“Let’s turn on some music.” Kyle deflected the conversation so sloppily it didn’t matter how drunk Eric was. But somehow, by some sliver of mercy, Eric let the topic drop. 

And in a few minutes—

 _“EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD!”_ They both sang too loudly and nowhere on key. 

_“There’s a room where the light won’t find you,”_ Kyle sang.

 _“Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down!”_ Eric dramatically grabbed Kyle’s hand in both of his own, singing into them.

 _“When they do, I’ll be right behind you.”_ Kyle couldn’t help but look at Eric, who was smiling right back at him. 

_“So glad we’ve almost made it—”_

_“So sad they had to fade it—”_

_“EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD!”_ And they sang together again. Kyle felt like his veins were full of bubbles, good and giddy and lighter than air. His voice was wrecked at this point, so he let Eric finish out the song, much nicer sounding than Kyle could’ve. 

_“I can’t stand this indecision,”—_ Eric sang passionately, always throwing himself into everything he did and everything he cared about— _“Married with a lack of vision.”—_ Kyle loved that about him— _“Everybody wants to rule the world!”_

“Hey,” Kyle spoke up, a song or two later, “You don’t really hate Valentine’s Day, right?” It wasn’t a question as much as it was a statement. 

“What gave it away?” Eric said, mock surprised. “Was it the romcom marathon or the fuzzy socks?”

“Why do you pretend to hate it then?”

“I don’t _pretend,”_ Eric made a noise like he didn’t know what to say. “It’s stupid as hell, but I like stupid. I just don’t like when other people are stupid.”

“So you’re saying you _want_ someone to stand outside your window with a boombox?” 

“Well, I mean,” Eric sighed, “It’d be nice for someone to care and show me he cares. I mean,” Eric gazed out the window, dreamily. “...doesn’t everyone want to be loved?”

Kyle didn’t respond. But his right hand on the wheel felt cold.

By the time they pulled up into the driveway, Eric looked half asleep, slumped up against the window. Walking into the house was a mostly quiet affair. Kyle kicked off his shoes and was immediately on his way upstairs, already undoing the buttons on his shirt. He’d been over enough times that he had some clothes stashed away and he was _dying_ to get out of this stupid suit. Eric kind of loitered by the door. 

“Kyle.”

“Yeah?” Kyle stopped in the middle of the living room, turning. 

“Are you, uh, staying the night?” 

“I mean, yeah, it makes more sense than going home right now,” Kyle replied, “I don’t want to deal with my parents or—” 

“No, Kyle, I mean…” Eric bit his lip. “Are you _staying the night?”_

He’d taken off his eyelashes, and his jewelry was bundled in his hand. He looked rumpled. His clothes were wrinkled, his hair was messy, his makeup was smeared on the edges. He looked vulnerable. Almost hopeful. 

And all of a sudden, Kyle was transported back to _last Christmas._ There was too much eggnog, Kyle blamed, for the way the two of them ended up pressed against each other, watching the snow fall from the window. Kyle pretended to forget the way he held Eric’s face, the way he’d used his thumbs to wipe the tears from Eric’s cheeks. Forgot why Eric was crying in the first place, the way he was spread open raw for Kyle to take apart and put back together. 

Forgot how Kyle opened himself up, too, and how he realized just how perfectly their broken pieces fit with one another. 

Kyle left the next morning before Eric woke up.

Neither of them had talked about it, and Kyle was content to pack it away and store it in the deepest part of his mind to collect dust. But here Eric was, dragging it back out and tracing his fingers over the lid—so much more fragile than Kyle thought. 

“Kyle... _will_ you stay the night?” Eric’s eyes were fathomless.

Kyle swallowed thickly. 

“...please?” Eric was so quiet Kyle wouldn’t have heard him if he wasn’t listening for it. 

“I...um…” Kyle stuttered, unable to look away from Eric’s soft, longing gaze. Eric wasn’t doing anything—no threats or jokes. He was just standing there, baring his own soul and in turn inadvertently ripping down Kyle’s own defenses. “I’ve got pajamas.” Kyle ended, lamely. 

“And a spare toothbrush,” Eric said, his smile wide and toothy. “I’m gonna go wash all this off and we can, uh, I don’t know, watch something?” Eric started making his way to the stairs, putting a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as he passed by. Then he was gone. Kyle, in a daze, dropped the food in the fridge, and then collapsed onto the couch. 

What the fuck was he going to do? 

Kyle stared up at the popcorn ceiling as if he could psychically divine an answer from the yellowed patterns. Instead, all he could do was think about Eric, and about himself, and about all the uncomfortable thoughts he’d pushed to the back of his head. 

Well. First things first: Kyle was going to get out of this stupid suit. 

The shower was running when he passed by on the way to Eric’s room. Kyle saw his own clothes on the floor and tucked them into a pile before wandering to Eric’s dresser, to the bottom left drawer where he knew his spare clothes were stashed. He saw a couple of Butters’ shirts, too, and had to fight a scowl. Which was ridiculous, since there was a pair of leggings Kyle knew belonged to Kenny in there too. And Kyle himself had a drawer for Stan and Eric’s clothes. 

And he was thinking way too hard about this. 

Kyle peeled his shirt off. He stopped for a moment, realizing the shower was off, and in middle-school locker room time he’d hurriedly stripped down and changed. Kyle looked at the bed. He looked at his phone. He shrugged and laid down on top of the neatly made blankets. 

Kyle had just started scrolling through Twitter when he felt something on his chest. He glanced over his phone and saw the inquisitive paw Freckle had on his sternum. Kyle didn’t move, too wary to want to startle the cat. Freckle rubbed its face on Kyle’s hands and phone, then curled up on his torso. 

Kyle looked down. Well, he was sure Eric would appreciate the scene, at least. 

Before he could think better of it, Kyle raised his phone to take a quick selfie. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the camera for too long, his hand covering his mouth. Kyle sent the picture to Eric and immediately deleted it from his own phone. 

A few minutes later and Eric walked into the room, a robe on his shoulders and his hair in a towel. His skin was flushed pink and he looked shocked to see Kyle there. He gaped, his mouth making several false starts at saying _something._

“I don’t think I can move now,” Kyle said, gesturing to Freckle. Eric blinked, then looked away, and Kyle could see how he tried to hold back a smile. 

“Good job, Finks,” Eric cooed at the cat, “Make sure he can’t escape.” 

Kyle didn’t look when Eric started pulling on clothes under the robe. Maybe once. Or twice. It was getting late, and Kyle’s will was starting to weaken. They were alone save for the cat, Liane Cartman out somewhere for the weekend as she tended to do, and they didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.

Eric took the towel out of his hair and hung it on a hook behind his door. He’d put on a T-shirt and baggy shorts and when he glanced at his phone he smiled so wide Kyle could see the plastic sheen of his nightguard. 

And in that exact moment, Kyle told himself he was gonna be honest tonight.

“So, uh, do you want to...watch something or…” Eric stood next to the bed, not making any move to get in quite yet. 

“I…” Kyle took a deep breath. He put his phone down on the nightstand. “I think we should talk. About stuff.”

“Okay,” Eric was quiet again. 

“Wanna help me get this cat off, though,” Kyle said, sounding calmer than he actually felt. He pressed his hands into the bed underneath him. If he moved them he knew he’d be shaking with nerves. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. But at least Eric seemed just as lost. 

Eric leaned over and picked up Freckle, giving the cat an affectionate kiss on the head before plopping him onto the cat bed in the corner of the room. It was embroidered with Freckle’s name and Kyle wasn’t sure if Eric paid extra to buy it like that or if he did it himself. 

Both options made him feel warm, though. 

Kyle sat up and turned to face Eric. He didn’t look him in the eye, couldn’t. Instead he looked at Eric’s hands. He had a little scar on the nailbed of his index finger, but the rest of his skin was smooth, unpicked. 

“I’m proud of you,” Kyle said, suddenly. At first, he was thinking about Eric’s hands, the way his fingers weren’t all torn up—but then the floodgates opened, and Kyle knew he was proud of Eric “...for a lot of things.” 

“Thanks.” Eric curled up on the bed, leaning against the pillows. “I mean, I’ve been working my ass off for, like, everything. I’d like to think I’m not the same entitled brat from when we were kids. I’d like to be treated that way, too, but...it’s hard to want to act like it.” 

“Yeah.” Kyle sighed. “We’re really stupid, huh. Caring so much about what people think. Pretending to hate Valentine’s Day.” 

“I thought you _actually_ hated Valentine’s Day?” 

“I mean,” Kyle smirked, “I hate when other people are stupid about it, but...I think I was just bitter I didn’t have someone to spend it with.” Kyle looked Eric in the eye. “I had a lot of fun today, dude.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Eric ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think we could change? You know, stop pretending? ‘Cause I’m sick of faking. I’m _real_ fucking sick of it. I know people won’t believe me, but, can _you_ believe me, at least? I don’t want to keep pretending with you.” 

Kyle thought about his parents. He thought about their friends. His future, his career goals. But mostly, he thought about himself. 

“My therapist says I base too much of my personal identity on how other people see me,” Kyle said, “I never really got what that meant—or, uh, I knew what it meant, but I pretended I didn’t.” Kyle scooted closer to Eric. “I’m scared. I’m really scared, dude.” 

“So am I.” Eric moved closer. They sat in silence for a minute, arm to arm. Kyle’s head was down. His throat felt tight. 

“I’m sorry,” Kyle choked out, “Sorry for running away from you.” 

Eric sniffed, leaning over to rest his cheek on Kyle’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry for letting you run away.” Eric laughed, wetly. “You’re a real piece of work, Broflovski. What are we, a romance subplot? We should’ve gotten our shit together eight seasons ago.”

“But the writers know people love the drama.” Kyle wrapped his arm around Eric. 

“It got real old, real fast, though,” Eric continued, “‘Cause there’s no more convenient reasons to stall. They’ve written themselves in circles.” 

“Thankfully we’re not in an actual teen drama,” Kyle said, “And we don’t have to keep stalling.” 

Eric didn’t respond immediately, though he did tuck himself deeper into Kyle’s side. 

“Do I have to say it first?” Eric mumbled, sounding so _fragile._

“I think you did, though. I just pretended not to listen.” Kyle stared at the ceiling, feeling the comforting weight of another body against his own. Of someone else there. “I don’t know how long I’ve liked you, but I do. I really, really like you.”

“Me too.” Eric hiccuped a small sob, clinging to Kyle. 

“I was so scared to like you. I’d try to think about college and getting married and it would all just feel weird and hollow when you weren’t there. I can’t imagine a future without you, dude.” 

Eric laughed. 

“So you mean the shit you said at _Chick-Fil-A_ was real?” Eric asked. “‘Cause that would make me feel a lot better about all the shit I said tonight that was real, too.” 

“Please don’t tell me you _actually_ like cheesy pet-names?” 

“Sorry, babe!” Eric chirped, “You’re stuck with that one.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m not a pet-name guy,” Kyle said. “So _you’re_ stuck with just ‘Eric.’”

“That’s the first time you’ve said my name all night.” Eric sat up to look at Kyle. He wasn’t crying, but he had some leftover tear tracks on his cheeks. So Kyle wiped them away. And didn’t pull away when he did. 

Eric was smiling at him. 

...and it wasn’t even their first kiss. 

In reality, it probably wasn’t even their fifth, sixth, _tenth_ kiss. But it was their first _real_ kiss, all soft and chaste and sweet—like any one of the picture perfect movie kisses Kyle had seen on billboards and ads and in movies. 

And for once, Kyle saw the appeal. 

“So...what are we?” Eric asked. “Does this mean I can put a heart emoji next to your name?”

“Yes, Eric, you can put a heart next to my name.” 

Eric stayed curled up against Kyle, tangling their fingers. He leaned up to peck at Kyle’s cheek. 

“Hey, Kahl.” Peck. “Can we go on a real date sometime?” Peck. Peck. Peck. 

“Uh, sure.” Kyle was a little distracted by the kiss that had strayed down his jaw. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Eric asked, “I mean, uh, not that I don’t want to...um, _do_ anything I just...not right now. I guess?” Eric’s voice trailed off as he added: “I just wanna be close to you, right now.” 

Kyle squeezed Eric’s hand. He quickly kissed Eric’s forehead instead of really responding. 

“Kewl.” The tension in Eric’s shoulders melted off. “You better get used to this, _honeybunch,_ cause I love to cuddle.” 

“I’m not surprised.” Kyle rolled his eyes, jokingly. “Though this means you’re sitting next to me on movie nights.” _Not Butters._ Kyle thought, almost smug.

“Does...does that mean you want to tell the guys?” Eric’s voice was heavy with disbelief. “You want to go public?” 

Kyle hadn’t realized that’s what he implied, but— 

“Yeah.” Kyle squeezed Eric’s hand again. “We’re not pretending anymore, right? I don’t want to keep this a secret.” Though Kyle had a thought—“That doesn’t mean I want _all_ of our business publicized, _Eric._ I’m fine telling the guys, and, uh,” Kyle mumbled, “Probably my parents at some point?” He shrugged, “And I’m not gonna lie if someone asks, but I don’t want to make a huge deal for other people. It’s _our_ business, not theirs.” 

“But can I get one public display? Please? Just one.” Eric punctuated his request with about half a dozen more kisses. And Kyle knew already Eric was going to righteously abuse his newfound cuddle permissions. Not that Kyle _really_ minded. 

“Maybe. But _only_ for a special occasion.” 

“I can live with that!” Eric cheered, “I mean, I got you to propose in public— _twice—_ and that wasn’t even the real-deal. I could stand to hold off on another big show for a while. Maybe senior prom. Or a five-year.” 

Kyle didn’t even flinch at the mention of a five-year. It seemed so natural for them, really. Kyle yawned. 

“Ugh, we can talk more about boundaries and shit tomorrow,” Eric pouted. “Scoot over so I can get under the blankets.” 

Kyle turned off the bedside lamp, and the two of them were surrounded by darkness. Kyle reached out for Eric. Before he let himself fall asleep, he tugged _his_ Eric Cartman to his chest, pleased at the way Eric reached back. 

The last thing he knew was the feeling of Eric smiling against his chest, and an absolute certainty that—

Yeah, they were going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Some additional notes !!  
> -You can imagine last christmas as however you want, but I hope the gist was clear that it was a very tender, vulnerable moment they had that Kyle was avoiding  
> -I didn't mention it but eric definitely went to therapy too, and he's likely medicated  
> -the first fake proposal was an amalgamation of three different movie proposals from movies I have NEVER seen, so let's see if yall can recognize them! XD  
> -when Eric was singing in the kitchen he was referencing two different Marilyn songs, Every Baby Needs a Da-Da-Daddy and My Heart Belongs to Daddy  
> -"dumping you in public, AGAIN" make with that what you will :)  
> -eric sometimes has insomnia and tends to wake up early and then take naps, so it seems like he sleeps in more than he actually does  
> -the rose face mask was from lush  
> -Liane is most likely spending the night with someone and won't be home all weekend; Eric doesn't know exactly where she goes and he doesn't really want to know  
> -Kyle doesn't know if he specifically wants to use the word "boyfriend" just yet, but he does like the idea of eric being _his_ in a way  
> -Speaking of, Kyle doesn't really have a thing for being called daddy, he just really likes eric and is VERY into the idea of taking care of eric bc hes. a total service top.  
> -eric wears a nightguard bc he grinds his teeth at night due to anxiety; he also used to pick at his nailbeds from anxiety too but his mental health has improved to the point where he doesn't do that anymore  
> -kyle and eric definitely made out in that "angry I totally hate you as a rival" or "the tension was so extreme but I don't have Feelings" way; Eric kept letting it happen because hes a gay lovesick disaster and Kyle kept letting it happen bc he was in complete denial abt the fact that he just genuinely wanted to be around and kiss eric


End file.
